Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Six

I can still see the gaze of hatred he gave us as he got into his cruiser, the nodding he did to intimidate us, make us fear him. Giovanni showed no such fear, but I feel it for the both of us. Giovanni didn't know what he was demanding of me when he showed up.

"Thank you," I finally say, realizing I haven't answered him. I'm glad when a few people sit down at the bar, and he becomes occupied with them, wanting to sip on my drink and listen to the man crooning smooth jazz with a saxophone player accompanied.

I'm so tired. Tired of talking, tired of fighting—for everything.

My whole life is a fight. I go to work, I fight. I come home and fight through cancer with Norman. I let my guard down for one moment, and I'm fighting against Dixon. And now Giovanni.

His mother already hated me. I can only imagine how much that's worsened now. Maria, that home she loved so much, her livelihood...how is she going to make it now?

And Giovanni. If he doesn't take my money, how is he going to work? He has employees, lines of clothing to make, shows and events. His studios won't be able to sustain without funds. Even if he makes another collection and excels, he has to fund the making of that line.

He needs my money. I'll give it to him. I'll give him, and all of his family my money. All the inheritance, so this doesn't ruin his career, so their lives are as unaffected by this as possible.

He just needs to take it.

I glance up, my eyes catching sight of the television mounted near the shiny ceiling.

THE CORRUPT LATE MULTI-MILLIONAIRE FATHER OF DESIGNER GIOVANNI MARTINELLI—WHAT THIS MEANS AND HOW MUCH HE STOLE TO CREATE AN EMPIRE—FIND OUT AT MIDNIGHT

Fuck.

I swallow the lump in my throat, pushing away the glass.

"There better not have been alcohol in that drink."

I exhale the breath I began to hold the minute I heard his voice, but don't turn around, irritated by his tone. Giovanni rests his jacket on the back of the seat beside mine, and lowers onto the bench.

"You seem to think I'm dead set on killing this baby, Giovanni," I mutter quietly, pissed he'd think I'd even take a sip of alcohol with a kid inside of me.

"You're still mad."

"Obviously, so are you. So, why are you here?"

"Because it's midnight, and you're not home. Is this normal, you disappearing into the night until the wee hours of the morning?"

"Yeah, Gio. Today is just like every other day." I turn toward him on the bench, and rest my elbows against the back of the bench and the bar. "Everything I've told you so far has been one big fat lie. I don't take care of Norman. Instead of work, I come here and I drink my brains out."

He chuckles, frustrated. "Goddamn, Scarlett. You irritate me."

"Why do you put up with it?"

"Because I like it too." He turns in his seat as well, and plants each leg on either side of mine. He doesn't touch me though. "It means you have a conscious. It means you give a shit about me."

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Once again interrupted in a prime moment of an argument for the second time today, we both slowly look from one another to look at the bartender. The guy is smirking, knowing that I'm fighting, and that this is the elusive boyfriend that has me tucked protectively between his legs, but his eyes round into circles as he catches onto who my boyfriend is.